


do what i want, say what you say

by stromer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (I did them dirty on this one lmao), (Semi) CLoseted Character, Angry ending probably idk, F/F, Misogyny, Pre-Slash, Toronto Maple Leafs, not really unhappy ending more just unhappy whole thing??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-20 14:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stromer/pseuds/stromer
Summary: Mitch’s hair has hung past her shoulder for as long as she can remember. She had asked her mum, once, why she couldn’t cut it like the boys on her team. Her mum had laughed.Mitch hadn’t asked again.





	do what i want, say what you say

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic about being a woman in a male dominated field and also a fic about being angry about shitty men. If this makes you want to comment 'not all men' please leave ty.
> 
> There's not really explicit homophobia in this but obviously misogyny affects gay women in specific ways so like. be warned.
> 
> Massive thanks to Nicky and Elise, for looking over this for me and for both wanting to vent about terrible men to me at 4am on Saturday. I'm glad we were all in our feelings about this at the same time (despite not being together). Also Nicky a line in here is absolutely stolen from your texts sorry.
> 
> Title from Kesha's Woman because she too is pissed off.

Ironically, Mitch doesn’t cut her hair until after Lou leaves, once the long hair ban is finally lifted.

Not that the ban applied to her—the whole point is that players look presentable which, for Mitch, meant a neat braid peeking out from under her helmet.

Mitch’s hair has hung past her shoulder for as long as she can remember. She had asked her mum, once, why she couldn’t cut it like the boys on her team. Her mum had laughed.

Mitch hadn’t asked again.

 

There are so many rules with hockey: don’t cross this line before the puck; don’t slash players with your stick; don’t check a player who doesn’t have the puck.

Mitch likes it, likes the way everything is set out clearly. There’s no room for misunderstanding or argument.

She didn’t know there were other rules, didn’t realise until her mum bent down to cup her cheek and said, “Darling, you can’t cut your hair, it’s so beautiful and long.”

 

There are other rules, of course, but the hair thing stands out the most to Mitch.

People talk, is the thing. They joke and gossip about girls who play hockey.

In midget a boy on Mitch’s team gets a penalty for calling a girl on the other team a lesbian. Her coach argues against it, laughing, because _look at her! You can’t give him a penalty for saying the truth_. Mitch doesn’t know what a lesbian is, has to look it up later, but the way he says it, the way coach laughs, makes her mouth taste sour.

 

She makes the hair connection later, in London.

Chucky’s hair is gorgeous, short coils framing her face in such an eye-catching way that Mitch can’t stop looking.

They’re in the locker room after practice, Chucky towelling off her hair in boxers and a sports bra when someone yells across the room at her, “God you’re such a lesbian, Chucky.”

Something flashes across Chucky’s face—or at least Mitch thinks it does, can feel it mirrored in the tightening of her chest. It’s gone in a fraction of a second though and when Chucky turns and laughs her smile is sharp, forceful.

“That’s me,” she leers, abrasive. “A dirty fucking dyke.”

 

Mitch gets drafted, fourth, to fucking _Toronto._

She wears a dress she bought with her mum, long hair falling around her shoulders in waves. Reporters fall over themselves to talk to her, writing stories about the pretty Ontarian girl getting to play for her city.

The Leafs have had girls on their roster before—every team has—but they don’t have any at the moment.

Thinking about it makes Mitch’s stomach twist, sad and proud and guilty. A heavy mess that swirls low in her gut.

Mitch tries not to think about it.

 

When she finally gets called up it’s not lonely, being the only girl.

She’s been the only girl in more locker rooms than not, so she settles in easily. She keeps her eyes on the floor and strips out of her gear quickly, as though it hasn’t occurred to her that she’s in a room full of men.

She thinks she hears Auston mutter something to Willy, too low to make out more than _fucking tiny tits_.

She keeps her face blank. She could say something, she knows, pull Mo aside, or Babs, or even just tell Auston to fuck off to his face, right in the middle of the locker room.

Instead she remembers Chucky, fierce and defiant and _brave_. She remembers the way some of the team held back from her, wouldn’t meet her eye or invite her to parties.

Mitch keeps her eyes on the floor, bites her tongue.

 

They get used to her, of course.

Marty takes to calling her his little sister. It feels a little demeaning but it stops anyone flirting with her, so Mitch calls it a win.

Before long she’s one of the boys, they buy her drinks and play video games with her and don’t hesitate when they talk about how _that Jones girl is fucking hot. I hear she’s a massive bitch though, not worth it._

Mitch wonders idly if they don’t realise she can hear them or, worse, if this is them showing restraint.

 

She laughs it off when the guys suggest she hook up at bars. Says she’s tired, that everyone here is ugly anyway.

She still goes out with them after games, knows what happened to Hamilton when she stopped hanging out with her teammates, knows what happens when girls make a fuss.

Sometimes Mo takes pity on her, yells at them to _lay off her, boys, come on_ and asks her whether she was serious when she said she wanted to get a puppy.

When Mitch texts Chucky under the table to say _fuck men_ she gets an instant response.

_Fuck ! Men !_

It’s not like she doesn’t hook up, of course. She’s a professional hockey player in Toronto, for fucks sake, it’s really not that difficult. She doesn’t talk about it in the room though.

People talk, is the thing. They joke and gossip about girls who play hockey. Mitch doesn’t want them to feel smug, another gay girl playing a man’s sport.

She hooks up, dates even, but she doesn’t let things get serious.

Life’s easier like that anyway, just a pretty Ontarian girl playing for her home town team.

The Canadian dream.

 

Mat Barzal wins the Calder in Mitch’s second year.

Mitch texts her congratulations and tries not to feel jealous.

She looks so at home making her speech, dress hugging her figure, makeup glowing on her cheeks. She smiles as she thanks her teammates, says she _couldn’t have done it without you boys._

Mitch’s skin crawls and she changes the channel.

 

She doesn’t talk about it, really, the way she gets treated.

She brought it up once, tired after a loss. _You can’t really think all men are like that_ Connor had said, hurt.

She doesn’t bring it up again.

Chucky comes to stay with her after they lose to Boston because _I don’t care how badly you wanted to win, Mitch, this is pathetic._

They get drunk, lying on the floor in the living room of Mitch’s ridiculously large condo.

Mitch can feel the alcohol working itself through her veins, feels a joyous weightlessness and a heavy sadness at the same time. She scratches her fingers through Chucky’s hair, ignores the way her stomach flips when Chucky moans.

It’s all so much easier for Chucky to handle, somehow.

She doesn’t realise she’s spoken out loud at first, not until Chucky’s sitting up to look at her.

“It’s not easy for me,” she says, voice soft. “It’s not easy for anyone, Mitch. But if they know that then they win. It’s better to pretend.”

 

When Mitch finds out they signed Tavares she cries.

She had posters of Tavares on her wall as a kid, the quiet Ontarian girl who was taking the league by storm. Tavares has always kept her hair long, her nails painted, her voice quiet. Mitch had always aspired to be her—pretty and talented and loved.

Sitting on her bathroom floor, phone clutched in her hand, Mitch feels lonely.

 

So.

Ironically, Mitch doesn’t cut her hair until after Lou leaves.

She shows up to the first day of camp with her head shaved clean without any makeup to soften her features. Her teammates watch her, cautious, and the media don’t ask her about it—only to speculate over what it means on twitter later that day.

Mitch feels powerful, ugly and raw and undefeatable.

She sends a selfie to Chucky, grins fierce at the camera and types out _dirty fucking dyke._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading sorry I did the leafs like that :/


End file.
